


At The Winter Palace

by AlleiraDayne



Series: Instead of Going to Bed DAI Verse [17]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Confident Cullen Rutherford, Cowgirl Position, Cullen Rutherford Smut, Cullen Smut, Cullenlingus, Dom Cullen Rutherford, F/M, Fluff, Kinky Cullen Rutherford, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Sex, Smutty, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-05
Updated: 2017-09-05
Packaged: 2018-12-24 08:44:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12009162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlleiraDayne/pseuds/AlleiraDayne
Summary: Amallia Trevelyan and Cullen Rutherford sneak off for some private time at the Winter Palace.





	At The Winter Palace

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/138010791@N02/36677342060/in/datetaken-public/)

* * *

 

Amallia lingered in the shadows, a careful eye scanning the entry. Nobles from every region of Thedas filled the hall, huddled in their retinues and whispering their secrets to each other. The urge to scream, to flail at them and watch them scatter like terrified birds boiled beneath the surface of a calm exterior.

Across the hall she spotted her advisors, awaiting her arrival. They wore identical uniforms–one she thought she would wear as well until Leliana had insisted otherwise. When they arrived three days before the peace talk, Vivienne had pulled them both aside to discuss the Inquisitor’s attire. Leliana required no convincing, but Amallia had balked at the idea.

As she stared across the hall, her apprehension returned twofold. Cullen surveyed the hall with a calculating glare, alert and poised like cat ready to pounce. Maker’s breath, what would he think of her in such an impractical outfit? Assassins lurked around every corner and yet, there goes the Inquisitor in her ridiculous gown and crushed velvet slippers with amethysts and onyx gems on the toes. In her mind, she heard him chastising her all the way back to Skyhold.

That is, if they survived the night.

Anxious,  she remained hidden, but the longer she stood there, Cullen’s worry creeped to the surface, showing in the wrinkles of his forehead and the frown on his lips. When he asked Leliana a question – something akin to why it was taking so long–the spymaster patted his shoulder and gave him a smile. That did nothing to assuage his concerns, for his frown deepened to a scowl.

_Better get this over with._

With a deep, cleansing breath Amallia emerged from the shadows, shoulders back and jaw set. Necks risked whiplash to see her, unable to turn fast enough for their heads. For a moment, the hall quieted, the cacophony of whispers dwindling to a deafening silence. But no sooner had the nobles fallen mute did their salacious secrets begin again, reinvigorated.

Amallia heard nothing but the thrumming of her unbridled heart, her concentration focused on the one person _not_ gossiping. There, before the door to the ballroom, stood Cullen, glaring at her with such profound frustration, her stomach sank, heavy as obsidian. Damn that fool dress and damn those women that had talked her into such a foolish idea. Leliana would not hear the end of it, she would never let her live it—

No. It was not frustration that clouded Cullen’s face. He wasn’t angry. He was confused.

He didn’t recognize her.

In a single heartbeat, his furrowed brow eased, wrinkles smoothing and frown relenting as hips lips parted and his eyes widened in recognition.

_Andraste’s knickers, Leliana was right._

She greeted her spymaster, the first of many exchanges in Orlesian pleasantries. Josephine stood beside Leliana, open arms embracing her in an encouraging hug. Words of advice, of poise and control and power sought refuge in her ears, and Amallia thanked her lucky stars for an ambassador such as she.

When Josephine parted from her, a hint of that sinking fear returned, souring her stomach. A step to her left stood Cullen, her Commander in more ways than one. Frozen in place, slack-jawed and wide-eyed, he gawked with complete disregard for their onlookers. An eternity passed in the space between her heart’s thumping, and it wasn’t until Josephine jabbed him in the ribs with an elbow that Cullen responded.

His hand found hers, cradling her fingers in his and bending to them, a bow deep enough to satisfy any queen. Fire consumed her flesh as his lips brushed her skin with a whisper, echoing many memories of lustful nights long passed. Every fiber of her being screamed in agony as she denied herself any pleasure in that moment, focusing instead on their mission, the entire _reason_ she was in such a ridiculous outfit.

That had been a mistake; by redirecting her attention, she forgot he yet held her hand. As he straightened, he stepped into her as if to dance, his breath hot on her ear and a massive hand on her hip. She prayed a silent prayer that no one within earshot had heard her breathless gasp as he held her close, breasts pressed against the solid expanse of his chest.

“I require a word with you, _Inquisitor_. Find me after you meet with the Empress.”

Maker’s breath, that voice.

“Ye-yes, _Commander_.”

As he parted from her, it was all Amallia could do to stay on her feet, knees weak and dizzy head brimming with scandalous thoughts.

* * *

For two excruciating hours, Amallia mingled and cajoled with Orlesians and other nobility, the thought of Cullen’s request permeating her subconscious. It whispered to her at the most inappropriate moments, teasing her with subtle memories and lascivious fantasies. When the opportunity presented itself, Amallia dropped her façade and bolted for the shadowed edges of the ballroom to avoid another conversation debating the bloody history of Orlais.

She found him surrounded by a flock of Orlesian women–and one Orlesian man–their masks failing to hide their batting lashes and simpering smiles. Perhaps a daring rescue was in order? As she neared the throng, his pleading stare found hers, the answer to her question. From behind t he throng, she towered over the other women, speaking with authority and a face of stone.

“Commander Cullen,” she stated. “A word, if I may?”

Before any of the nobles turned back to him, a small smile twitched the corners of Cullen’s lips. “My apologies, ladies… ser,” he muttered with a hand to his heart and a curt bow. “I will return.”

Along the length of the ballroom, she led them, Cullen following at a proper distance. Once positive they stood far enough from his entourage, Amallia spoke over her shoulder. “I’m afraid you won’t be returning to that group if I have a say in the matter.”

Though his cheeks colored, he grinned a wicked grin. “Where to?”

In a darkened corner, she turned to find him a mere inch away, amber eyes alight with excitement. “I scouted an unused room in the guest wing,” she whispered. “Meet me in ten minutes?”

Cullen hummed a laugh through his nose as he pressed closer, his lips at her ear. “Afraid of wagging tongues?”

“Oh, how delicious the stories would be,” she sighed in his embrace. “The Inquisitor-” she whimpered, “-and the Commander of her forces, _fucking_ in secret at the Winter Palace.”

“I would read it,” he jested.

“Then let’s write it,” she retorted, slipping from his grasp despite his groaning protests. “Ten minutes.”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

* * *

The flickering orange glow from the fireplace cast eerie shadows in the furthest corners of the room, the singular massive bed consuming most of the space. Yellow and blue velvet curtains smothered the windows, leaving nothing to chance.

Metal rasping on metal wheeled her to the door, the handle turning to admit a visitor. Amallia froze, hidden behind the opening door until the white cuff of Cullen’s uniform entered the room. The man followed, a deft side step baring him over the threshold, and a soft _snict_ shut the door. Amallia threw the latch beneath the knob, securing the room, and breathed a sigh of relief.

Her reprieve lasted but a second. From behind, Cullen’s massive arms wrapped around her waist, grasping at the lengths of her dress and gathering the fabric in one hand. Amallia gasped, crying out in shock as the other dove between her thighs, his nimble fingers smoothing over her damp small-clothes.

“Maker’s breath, wet for me already?” he moaned into her flesh.

“I kept thinking about that look on your face,” she moaned, “when I entered the hall.”

“I didn’t know it was you, at first,” he admitted. “But how could I not? I know this valley _so_ well,” he sighed as he released her dress and dragged a finger along her supple cleavage. Gooseflesh broke out across her skin, his touch a brand that left her marked.

The hand at her apex slipped away with a tantalizing drag of a finger and Amallia swayed, knees quivering with anticipation. Turning to him, she said, “And then you recognized me.”

“I did,” he panted as he pressed close, bodies flush. “I nearly dragged you out of the palace right then. I wanted—needed to have you.”

“Oh,” she hummed as she wrenched at his belt. It popped free with a gasp, and Amallia found a surprised blush across his nose. “You’ve got me now. I’m all yours.”

The buttons of his tunic and britches fell apart with each flick of her fingers, and Amallia knelt before him. Once more, Cullen’s awestruck look returned, lips parted in a silent moan. “I do have you to myself,” he whispered, his fingers diving into her hair. “To do with you whatever I will.”

Amallia nodded, her cheek cupped by his massive hand. With a smooth stroke of his stiffened length over his pants, he twitched, shivering under her touch. “And what would you have of me?” she teased, a long, lurid lick of her lips goading him, coaxing him from his shell.

“Suck my cock.”

Without another command, she tore his britches and smalls to his knees, and his heavy length fell free, standing at attention. She hummed another moan through her nose as she neared the crown, drinking in the sight that was his state of undress; pants around his knees, jacket undone and half open to reveal his muscled chest and stomach, the blonde dusting of hair leading to his manhood, the vein in his neck throbbing, and amber eyes molten with lust.

“Mal, please,” he begged.

Cool fingers wrapped around the shaft of his heated erection, and Amallia locked eyes with his as her lips parted. His chest heaved in anticipation, panting and praying as her tongue met his crown, the salt of his flesh filling her mouth. And then her lips sealed around him, enveloping him in her warmth.

The whimpering moan she elicited from him filled her ears, exquisite as any music. And when her cheeks hollowed, sucking him into her mouth, his other hand found her hair, grasping with a twitch of is hips. The tip of his cock touched the back of her throat and she moaned a long, keening sigh as she withdrew him.

Again, she repeated the motion, sucking his length, taking him as deep as possible to withdrawing as her tongue swirled around the swollen tip. And Cullen repeated his mantra, her name, _oh Maker_ , and _fuck_ , and _Maker’s breath, that feels so fucking good, keep going, suck on it, suck on my cock._

A scant minute passed before Cullen took control, thrusting into her mouth with soft rolls of his hips. His eyes rolled into the back of his head, moaning and grunting and growling as Amallia worked his length with her mouth. With a sudden sharp snap of his hips, Cullen withdrew himself, legs shuddering and chest heaving. After a moment of breathless gasps, his eyes opened, and he glared at her, grin ever so wicked.

Unable to wait any longer, Amallia stood as she tugged at the ties along her back. His firm grasp at her shoulders spun her, and with several sharp tugs, the bodice fell to the floor. His fingers, the way he plied her flesh as he slipped the fabric from her shoulders, extracted sounds from her she had never heard, whimpers and sighs so lurid her cheeks tingled with embarrassment.

Breath hotter than the sun scalded her neck, his lips brushing her ear as he cupped her breasts. His thick length settled between her cheeks as the hard expanse of his chest came flush to her back, his fingers kneading her breasts and teasing her peaks to taut buds. Every touch, every caress and sigh and _thrust_ pushed her closer to her end, and Amallia reeled in the wake of her pleasure.

Directing her to the foot of the bed, a hand splayed between her shoulders and pressed. “Bend over, love,” he whispered, drawing her from her thoughts. “I want to taste you.”

Amallia grasped the foot of the bed with trembling hands, bending at the hips as a delicate finger trailed along her spine. A pleased hum of approval met her ears before the warmth of his lips and the smooth laps of his tongue enveloped her core.

A moan rent from her chest and an involuntary spasm arched her back, thighs quivering as he devoured her. Tongue and lips worked together in perfect harmony, and she writhed with pleasure, moaning and sighing and _oh Maker, yes, right there, more, I’m so close._

“Come for me,” he whispered into her flesh. “Come on my face.”

Another astonished moan burst from her lips, his vulgarity flushing her cheeks hotter than the sun. Maker, but his voice. The most vulgar thoughts sounded like a lover’s prayer in his baritone, sweet and kind and erotic all at once. She vowed to hear him sing her name again that night.

A fullness spread her center with sudden penetration as Cullen pressed two fingers into her. The sensation overwhelmed her, mouth falling slack in a silent moan and eyes rolling back as they closed. “Come for me, Mal,” he coaxed again, plying her slick center with thrusting fingers, a thumb circling her throbbing clit. Oh, how she wanted to finish, the ache between her legs unsated and longing for release. The mere thought, coupled with their moans and his expert hands raced her to that perilous edge, her toes curling in anticipation.

The tight binding of her arousal split at the seams, unraveling in a long, high whine as her walls flexed around his fingers. The fullness was replaced with the warm wet of his tongue, sucking her lips and thumb yet circling her bundle of nerves. And then she succumbed to her most base desire, stars showering her lidded eyes and fire consuming her flesh as Cullen hummed into her center, sucking her clean of her arousal.

Her entire body shuddered, her chest heaving with breathless gasps, and Amallia moaned repeated sighs in the aftershocks of her climax. A minute or two was all she needed. A minute to breathe, to gather her bearings, to steady her racing heart. But she would not be afforded such a reprieve, for Cullen scooped her up into his massive arms and carried her around the bed and knelt on it with her. The warmth of his heated skin melded with hers, his clothes discarded, and she praised whatever creator it was that made this man and put him in her life.

Atop her he lay, weight on his forearms as he stared. “I love the way you writhe when I pleasure you,” he whispered as his lips met hers for a tender kiss, tasting of her. “Maker, but knowing I do that for you…”

She shoved him then, forcing him onto his back and straddling his hips. “Don’t get too full of yourself, now, Commander,” she jested with an impish grin. “I can turn you into a whimpering mess just as easily.”

A challenging brow raised towards his hairline with a cocky smirk. “Is that s- _oh_ ” he began but never finish his thought as Amallia rolled her hips, her sex gliding along the length of his cock. Hot, throbbing with need, she thrust again, teasing him until his fingers dug into her hips.

“Take me,” he begged. “I need you, take me, _please_.”

She giggled despite his intensity. “See,” she cooed, “you’re just as depraved and deviant as I am.”

“Show me, then,” he challenged with another confident smirk. “Show me how deviant you are.”

Reaching between them, Amallia grasped his length and Cullen startled, jaw falling slack in his ecstasy. His pleasure was a sight to behold, flexing muscles, writhing hips, and eyes screwed shut with lips mouthing silent benedictions to the heavens. She could watch him for hours, watch the way his entire body responded to her every touch, every caress, every teasing fingertip as though she possessed him.

In a way, she imagined she did, with her slick heat following the stroke of her hand, and Cullen whimpered a moan so soft, gooseflesh pebbled her skin. Fingernails bit into her hips, pleading where words failed him, and she acquiesced, but only just.

The crown of his swollen cock parted her lips, gliding inside with ease. Full, filled, Amallia whined a high moan as her flesh parted, spreading to accommodate his thick length. And when his hips met hers in a heavy flex of muscle, Cullen grunted his own pleasure, eyes popping wide and taking in every inch of her atop him.

Roaming hands nipped at her flesh, grasping with greed and leaving little crescent marks in their wake. “So eager,” she moaned as she flexed her thighs for a slow, measured stroke of his cock. Maker, but he was a mess. Withholding such simple pleasure had driven him mad with carnal desires and Amallia reveled in knowing she did that for him, in knowing he wouldn’t have her any other way.

Impatient muscles overpowered her, Cullen’s grip forcing her onto him and meeting her with a violent snap of his hips. A scream rent from her throat, pain and pleasure mingling for the perfect dizzying arousal. The sound clipped, silenced by a large, calloused hand as Cullen rose to her, the hard expanse of his chest squeezing her breasts.

“Do you want to get caught?” he growled.

His hand revealed an impish smirk, heavily lidded eyes drawing him closer. “What if I do?”  she asked, voice thick with lust. “What if I want everyone to see how the _Inquisitor_ fucks her _Commander_? How I ride his huge cock with my sopping wet cunt?”

Primal growls rumbled in his throat and rolled through her chest as he pinned her to him. “Then ride me, _Inquisitor_ ,” he breathed against her lips, tongues tasting one another. Their heated kiss lasted but a second, not long enough to sate her hunger, but her protesting whine transcended, rising to a keening moan as his lips sealed around a taut nipple.

Hips undulated, synced in perfect rhythm, hers rolling and his rising as the Inquisitor rode her Commander, songs of lust and love sung to the heavens in keening moans and soft sighs. Every touch, every moan, every deliciously salacious word uttered in ecstasy inched her closer to that familiar edge. And with a lewd _pop_ , Cullen sucked at her breast, pulling until it fell from his lips. So close, Maker, she was so close again, and with so little effort …

The wet heat of his mouth sealed around the other peak, drawing the taut bud between his lips with a lapping tongue. Endless amber stared into her eyes, watching her every expression and she rewarded him with another long skyward moan.

Faster, she rode him, grinding her core for the perfect stimulation. The urge, the absolute need to have him, claim him as hers scorched a path along her spine, and in that desire, she found strength. Fingers splayed on his chest as she shoved and her breast tugged from his mouth, another wet _pop_ finding her ears.

A resounding slap echoed in the high ceiling, the length of his fingers meeting her ass with a swift strike. Shock rose to pleasure in that ever so perfect mix of pain and pleasure and Amallia whimpered, overwhelmed. Flames as pure as Andraste herself consumed her flesh, scalding at the height of her arousal. And Cullen urged her onward, begging for more, more of her, more of everything she could give him, his voice shoving her over the edge. With one more stroke of his length, she released, her orgasm a brilliant burst of white stars consuming them both.

Collapsing atop him, Amallia fell to his chest, rising and falling like a ship at sea, drifting over each cresting wave of sensations. Alone they sailed, conceding to the rushing current that bore them along its desired course.

“We’ve been lucky,” she whispered. “Not a single interruption.”

Cullen hummed his approval through his nose, tickling the crook of her neck. “Lucky indeed,” he replied, lips plying her flesh. “Not that it matters,” he continued.

The world tipped, spinning in a blurred rush as Cullen flipped them over, laying her back on the bed as they had started. “Were anyone to come through that door,” he whispered in her ear, lips and tongue on her skin. “I would have ignored them.”

His length withdrew, leaving her empty, void, and she whined in protest. Teasing fingers replaced him as he continued. “I would have ignored them and continued to fuck you until you screamed, until you howled my name, until you begged me to stop.”

Not a single thought could penetrate the image he conjured in her mind, his voice clouding her mind and the smooth strokes of his fingers in her cunt lancing fire across her entire body. Maker, how had he learned her desires so well in so few months? And yet, there was more, she knew, more beneath the uniform and decorum and awkwardness. She need but to stroke the right nerve to find it.

“I don’t believe you,” she taunted. “You would fuck me while others watched? Could you even keep _it_ up?” she prodded, wetting parched lips with her tongue.

 _There_. Wrapped around her little finger, Cullen took the bait, lust boiling over into a raging fire. Rough hands grasped her by the hips and forced her to her stomach with violent toss, and Amallia gasped. Andraste preserve her, but she wanted this, wanted to feel the fullness of him as he _fucked_ her so hard she would feel it yet the next day. And then she would remember why her muscled ached and want him all over again.

The heat of his entire body on her back, heavy and slick with sweat, preceded his massive hand closing around her throat. “You don’t think I’d do it?” he asked, the length of his erection gliding between her cheeks. “You don’t think I could keep it hard for you whole people watched me fuck my _Inquisitor_?”

“No,” she breathed, panting with wild need, her entire world spinning in his grasp. “I think you’d be mortified, stage fright softening your prick.”

Another guttural growl rumbled through his chest, but he didn’t answer. Rough fingers grasped her backside, spreading her to envelope his length. Maker, she had never known pleasure such as this. In all her years, no one had ever taken her like he did, claimed her like he had with such impressive power and control. And that he begged the same in return, that she take him and force her will upon him and use him as she saw fit thrilled her beyond her wildest dreams.

“I’ll show you then.”

Time ceased to exist. The world shattered into millions of tiny pieces, leaving nothing but her and the man that ravaged her body as Cullen’s cock slammed into her cunt with a resounding _smack_! The wailing keen of her pleasure clipped in sudden silence as his hand covered her mouth, and Amallia whimpered into him, her body slumping in defeat.

“Still don’t think I could do it?” he asked as he withdrew, lips at her ear. “Do you need more proof?”

 _Fuck_ , he was good. Over her shoulder she gave him her best depraved, pleading stare as his hand fell from her mouth. “Show me,” she begged. “Fuck me like everyone is watching.”

Lion of Ferelden, indeed. His roar rent the air as he rose and, without delay, with out his usual tender ease with which he built her climax, furious hips pounded her flesh. Leverage anywhere she could grasp was sought in vain, for Cullen grasped her wrists and wrenched her arms to the small of her back, pinning her there with his heavy weight. Growls and grunts were the baritone to her alto melody, moans and whimpers and cries of pain or pleasure she could no longer be sure.

“Is this what you wanted?” He growled, hips yet thrusting into her with wild abandon.

“ _Yes_!” she cried, her moan punctuated by every sharp slap of their bodies.

Another growl replied. “Do you want more?”

“ _Yes_ , Cullen, _harder!_ Fuck me!” she cried.

Another almighty roar filled her ears, his hand returning to her throat, and for a brief second, Amallia panicked. Though his grip was firm, she could breathe without issue, and the flash of fear vanished in a wave of euphoria.

Except she could not move a single inch. Oh Maker, how intoxicating, how absolutely thrilling to give up the responsibility of control and leave it in another’s capable hands? And his _hands_ were so very capable, as was every _inch_ of his body, his mind, his heart. She trusted him, implicitly and without reserve, that he could take her with rough and greedy desire, but care for her body and mind without a single risk.

The world returned in a rush, time racing to catch up with the primal lovers in their carnal madness. Cullen’s rhythm faltered, erratic and stuttering with the heavy flexes of his erection. And it was all she needed, that last little push over the brink, tumbling into the endless abyss that was her third orgasm.

She cried out with him, erotic moans and sighs and gasps of lovers giving selflessly to one another. Hard twitches foretold the hot fluid of his seed filling her in spurts, and she shivered beneath him, aftershocks of her climax coursing through her entire body.

His fingers flew apart in a sudden need for a more tender touch. Beside her, he fell to the mattress, legs entwined and arms wrapping her into him. Amallia curled into him, laying on her side with their bodies flush to witness the sight of a man thoroughly pleasured. And what a sight it was, glassy half-lidded eyes, slack mouth yet gasping for air, a heaving chest that matched hers breath for breath…

And the most gorgeous mess of blonde waves she had ever seen curling over his brow.

“Oh my,” she muttered, fingering a lock and tugging straight. “We are in trouble.”

“Hm?” he asked, focus returning. “Oh,” he chuckled. “Yes, they do that when I sweat. And I would say that I care and that I would be mortified if anyone knew what we had just done but… for the first time in ages, I don’t.”

“Oh dear, I’ve done it,” Amallia stated with a giggle, “I’ve broken the Commander.”

He barked a laugh at that, his embrace tightening in a tender squeeze. “Yes, I believe you have. Alas, we should return to the festivities lest you be missed and Leliana sends a search party. Or Maker forbid, she comes calling herself.”

Amallia groaned at the thought. “Yes, we definitely don’t need that scandal getting out.”

She wished she could take the words back, for Cullen’s frown broke her heart. “I wouldn’t mind,” he started, then recovered when she raised a questioning eyebrow. “About us, I mean. I wouldn’t mind if we… if our relationship… were public. At least that would settle the rumors.”

He wasn’t wrong. In fact, the more she thought on it, the idea grew on her. “I think you might be on to something there, _Commander_. But it would still make for a delicious scandal. Amallia Trevelyan, Inquisitor and disinherited noble, betrothed to her Commander, the penniless commoner Cullen Rutherford.”

Their laughter filled the room as they rose from the bed to dressed. Cullen assisted with the stays of her bodice as she adjusted her slippers, and Amallia righted his buttons on his jacket. With each button, her mind wandered, reliving the more delectable moments of their lovemaking. She marveled at the impossibility that anything could go wrong that evening, her sneaking finding not only evidence, but the perfect hiding place for the two of them.

In that midst of that very thought, the lock _clicked_ , and the door swung wide to admit two sodden-drunk Orlesian nobles, a pair of giddy, giggling women with their hands all over one another and dresses half undone.

Silence shattered their reverie, the couples frozen in their places with wide eyes and wider mouths. Her wits fled and her judgment abandoned her when Amallia spurred into action, chasing after the women as they screamed and ran from the room.

Scandalous, indeed.


End file.
